


When darkness descends

by Maritrar



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Suicide, F/M, Not everyone can end up paired with an assassin, Slow Build, The assassin makes his appearance in chapter two, The world is unmerciful, Threaths of rape/non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maritrar/pseuds/Maritrar
Summary: When all is lost and there is no hope, hope still lingers. In desperation, we fight for what we want, for what we need. And sometimes, just sometimes we are rewarded.





	1. Condemned

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned! This text contains themes that some will find revulting. I do not write to revult, and if you are unsure you should read something else.

**Condemned**

The wind blows in across the bay, whipping the surface into small ridges of white froth. Wisps of hair flows around her face, drawn from the carefully crafted updo. She should be wearing her bonnet, but Evelyn has craved to feel the kiss of the elements for so long and she doesn’t particularly care as she regards the ocean.

A year has passed. A whole year since her father perished and left her in her aunt and uncles care. A year since her life changed, irreparably, unrelenting. Uncaring and unyielding. She heaves a sigh and closes her eyes, willing the sun to burn away the sorrow in her heart. No amount of self pitying thoughts would bring her father and her old life back, and there was no sense in dwelling on such thoughts.

Her aunt and uncle has granted her a year to mourn her father, a year to get accustomed to a caged life of a proper lady, rather than the freedom her father granted. They have only partially succeeded. Behind her, the bustle of a busy harbour continues unceasing, men carrying barrels and crates of provision up the gangplank of a nearby ship. Aboard, the captain or more likely his second in command shouts orders while overseeing the work.

“If you finish loading by the afternoon, I’ll grant you leave tonight, before we set sail.” The activities brings a familiar sense of expectation, the exhilarating rush through her veins she always felt following her father on his merchant ship. Another stab of regret pierces her heart knowing she is not going anywhere.

How she envies them the freedom. To set sail and travel the ocean. How she wish she were born a boy. Then no one could deny her to continue her father’s business and make a life of her own. That chance is now lost, dead along with her father.

She opens her eyes to watch the ripping waves reflect the impossibly blue sky above once more, storing the image inside as a source of peace and calm. It is time to go back. Time to face her future.

Maybe it will not be so bad, she muses. A caring husband could grant her freedom too, in a union based on mutual respect. Given time, she might even learn to love him. It’s not the life she wanted, not the life she expected, but it would not be so bad, a life filled with obligation and purpose. 

She makes her way back toward the street, weaving her way between the dockworkers and the stacks of crates waiting to be carried aboard or transported ashore to the merchants of Kingston. She spots her uncle's coupé waiting where she left it, the driver rigidly surveying the dock in search for her appearance. He visibly bristles as she returns, refuses to meet her gaze as she gets into the carriage. He looks like he would love nothing more than to give her a good scolding, but instead he clenches his jaw and holds his tongue. She has stayed longer than intended, and she knows he will be in trouble for her late arrival, but the view of the ocean was a last blissful pause, a chance to escape reality for just a little while and she feels no regret.

\---

She gets an earful from her aunt on her arrival, and it continues while the maids give her a bath. They scrub her clean to Aunt’s reseeding anger removing the remnant of salty spay on Evelyn’s skin and with it the tranquillity it brought. By the time she get out of the bath, her skin is red from scrubbing and she is as unnerved as she was this morning. The trembling of her hands is as much a token of nerves as the chill nipping at her skin, something everyone in the room seems to willingly ignore except her aunt who’s patience is worn thin.

“The water was warm an hour ago, when you were supposed to be back,” she snaps, even though Evelyn has made no complaints.

The maids bring Evelyn her clothes, a shift of the softest linen, then the new corset her aunt insisted for the occasion. She has to hold on to the bedpost in order to stay upright while the maids tightens the lacings and when they are finished she feels as if she'll faint. Aunt nods her appraise.

“Now, that's better!” she says and Evelyn can't help but roll her eyes. The outfit is made to put all her assets on display, to be paraded around like a price possession. The fact that she can barely breathe is of no consequence.

“Your fiancé will arrive in half an hour, she says. We will receive him your uncles office for the formalities. Then the two of you will be granted some time alone before joining the party downstairs."

She regards you with something akin to motherly concern, but you know her well enough to see its more her pride that's her worry. 

“A word of advice Evelyn”, she says then stall, weighing her words. “You need to halt these idea's of yours. Charity is a noble cause, but you cannot run around town fraternizing with vagrants and paupers no more.  When you are married, your place is at home or by your husband's side.”

Evelyn answers a muffled, ‘ _mmm_ ’, deigning not to get into an argument at this point. In the future, this is between her husband and herself, none of her aunt's concern. She is adamant to make him see reason, that bettering the conditions of the masses will benefit the community and that letting Evelyn continue is the only way forward.

One of the maids fetch the curling iron from the heat and sets to curl her hair, while the others get busy with her face and nails. Engulfed in their busy hands, she's brushed and curled and pinned and painted until she stands in front of the mirror doll in baby blue silk. Aunt is delighted, chirping praise at the maids skill and efficiency, while Evelyn struggles. She feels as if time is running between her fingers, and with it her sense of self and what she is. She can’t stand what they have turned her into, the barely able to breathe-picture perfect lady. A picture of everything she is not, she muses where she follows Aunt down the hall.

\---

Light music and a buzz of voices trails through the house and reaches her uncles office upstairs. Evelyn paces the study nervously, clenching her hands together before moving to fix a ruffled piece lace on her sleeve. Uncle's voice ascends the stairs along with two sets of footfalls muffled by the thick carpet lining the stair. “Stop fidgeting!” Aunt hisses and Evelyn straightens and faces the door. Her uncle enters followed by a man in his early forties. His dark hair swept back with a few streaks of gray along the temples. His eyes are grey, she notes, his gaze sharp and keen. He wears a navy blue coat over a lighter blue waistcoat, both embellished with ornate trimmings of gold thread. “Captain Flynn. May I present my nice, Evelyn Doyle. Evelyn this is Captain Marcus Flynn.” Evelyn courtesies deeply, barely finding the voice to greet him. He is older than she thought, but he seems fit and strong carrying none of the extra weight and softness of muscle common among the men of his age and class.

She doesn’t know if she is daunted or relieved as he trades pleasantry with Aunt and Uncle.

He is polite but reserved and she finds him hard to read. The amiable conversation shifts to praise of fair weather and a safe and swift journey by sea. It somehow seems constructed. Nearly rehearsed Evelyn muses. Her nervousness peaks when Uncle excuses Aunt and himself, and leaves the room. Aunt gives her a last pointed stare in warning before the door is closed. Evelyn swallows her nerves and turn to face the man who is to become her husband.

“Captain Flynn…”

“Miss Doyle...” He adresses her just as she addresses him.

He smiles humourlessly and gestures.

“Please, continue”, he says.

“Capain Flynn. As we hardly know each other...”, she stats, but looses her track somewhat at the lopsided grin fleetingly crossing his lips. Strengthening her resolve, she straightens and continue.

“I find it unwise to enter into an agreement without knowing the terms, Captain Flynn.”

His eyes trail the floor, but she is certain she has his full attention when he gestures once more to continue.

“I'm not accustomed to a the quiet life of a kept woman. I have certain responsibilities and there are those dependant on my aid.”

He nods in recognition but makes no comment. Uncle has already informed him it seems. She decides to elaborate nonetheless.

“Mostly aid the Church securing fair deals for their coin, bu in time of need I  also assist handing out alms. I would like to continue that work.“

He lets her speak and motions for her to continue as if he knows there is more. She gives him a smile, relieved to be able to voice her beliefs and needs, feeling the prospect of this marriage growing a little brighter.

“Also, I have a great love for the sea. My father used to bring me along on his old Merchant. Whenever you go I would love to accompany you. There is just something magiacl about feeling the sun on your skin and the salt winds on your face. It's been such a long time.” 

The captain regards her passively a second.

“Anything else?” he asks.

She clasps her hands before her. She is nearly finished. She has rehearsed this conversation several times, imaged how it would fair, but she had not expected it met like this, with no emotion at all, as if her affiliation with those less fortunate makes no difference to him.

Maybe he is of a similar understanding.

“Just one more thing, she says. I would like this to be an equal match, one born of mutual respect and trust. In such a marriage… I believe I can grow to love my husband,” she finishes in a hurry, before she loses her nerve.

Captain Flynn paces the room slowly, mulling her words over in his mind. He stops in front of the window, his gaze raking the view of the bay.

“And these are your conditions? he says and flicks her a sideway glance.

Timidly she nods. That is what she wants at least. He turns to fully face her, straightens and clasps his hands behind his back as he levells his weight on his feet.

“Well”, he says, “then these are mine; as my wife you will seize all nondomestic activities. From now on, your place is in your home, not roaming the streets on your own.”

Evelyn frowns and draws her breath to voice her dissent but is cut short as he raises a finger and continues.

“You will heed my word and abide by my rules.  You will be docile and compliant. I want none of your opinions, nor your talkbacks'. You are a woman, Evelyn, and you will learn your place.”

Indignant anger is building inside. The nerve of this man! As if, she will ever venture into a marriage like that.

“Then this was all for nought, Captain. I could never marry on these terms.”

“It has already been settled”, he states and she does not appreciate the gleam in his eyes. “Your uncle has already signed the papers.”

“I won’t accept! I turn 21 in a month. He cannot force me then.” She bristles in indignant fury, ignoring the heat radiating off her face. She has never been a doll, and she will not accept this man as if she were! What on earth were Uncle thinking?

He smiles, condescendingly as if her anger was that of a insolente child throwing a fit.

“And that, my dear,” he says “is why the wedding is in a fortnight.”

The words hits her like a fist while he continues in the drawling voice.

“Of course, the wedding is only a formality. In all aspects you belonged to me the moment the engagement was sealed.”

 _The year of grieving that uncle granted… the surprise engagement party… the constructed conversation…_ They planned this, Evelyn realises. Her aunt and uncle set her up!

“I _refuse_ to accept this!” Evelyn bursts out. She lets her anger lose, clenching her fists in tight balls at her sides. “I will _never_ accept a man like you!”

He regards her coldly for a second before stalking towards her in determined strides. Up until then, indignation has fuelled her nerve, but something in his demeanour has shifted and a trickle of fear runs down her spine. She backs away as he approaches until she is out of retreating steps, the cool stone wall at her back. He stops an inch away and when he speaks his voice is low and threatening.

“Your uncle said you need a firm hand, and I see that he is right.” His hand is suddenly wrapped around her throat, forcing her chin up.

“Let’s try this again, my dear”, he says but there is no warmth to the endearment.

“You belong to me. It is up to me to decide what happens. You will do as I bid, without argument.”

Fear is rapidly rising as he speaks, and she decides she needs to go. She swats at his hand and tries to pull away, but suddenly the grip tightens around her throat. Her eyes widen in panic and when she finds his eyes, a malicious smile graces his face.

“There we are”, he croons. “Now you are starting to grasp it.”

He holds her gaze as his free hand grazes her lips with a thumb. She jerks in aversion and the grip on her throat tightens. When she raises her hands to pry him off, he cuts off her breathing by the force of the grip. She claws at his hands, desperate to relieve the pressure.

"Hands down!" he growls. His face is an inch away from her own, his weight now pinning her against the wall. She can feel his hot breath on her skin as he pins her in place. There is no way out. Everything in her screams to fight back as she lowers her hands. He lets up the pressure and while she sucks down a tormented breath of air he has the nerve to _praise_ her.

As if she were a _pet_.

She hates herself for being so weak, for getting stuck like this, for not seeing the trap before it closed.

He stays like that, the length of him pressing against her and one hand gripping her throat, but the other hand does not stay idle. She shudders in disgust as it trails Down her exposed skin  of her neckline and halts at her breast cupping it through the layers of fabric. She doesn’t want him there, but any sign of resistance and the grip on her throat tightens. She grits her teeth, feeling tears burn behind her eyelids and then the hand _strokes_ and a spark of something shoots through her body.

Shocked, her mind registers the tendril of pleasure before guilt makes anger surge. Her body tightens as she tries to resist him, but so does the grip on her neck.

Then his voice sounds in her ear, the words spoken holds a tone of amusement.

“By all means, fight as long as you will, my dear. It will be all the sweeter when you break.”

“I won't," she sobs.

“You won't?” He _smiles_ and there is laughter in his voice. “Won't marry me or won't break?”

His hand is on the move again and before she can answer, it’s forced beneath the waistband of her dress. She shrieks, but stills when her breathing is cut off again. Panic shifts between the lack of air and the hand between her legs, languidly pulling the lenth of her shift up until she feels his fingers against her bare skin. They stroke and search, delving deeper between her legs and his breath turns laboured against her ear. Panicked, she disreards the lack of air and fights against him anyway, but then pain _flares_ and she knows it's too late. His fingers are _there_ , _inside her._ He has taken her most precious asset. To any decent man she is ruined. Shock freezes her in place. The hand around her neck eases the pressure and groans of ' _fuck'_ and ' _can’t wait'_   reach her mind.She is numb, detached, as if it’s not really her, not really her body he abuses.

When he stops, a part of her is relieved and yet she is terrified.

Deep within she knows that this is just the beginning, that her life has turned a nightmare. He pecks her cheek before he lets her go. In shock, she trembles as Aunt and Uncle return. She cannot meet their eyes, mortified at what has happened, and devastated at their betrayal. Do they know what a monster he is? ' _Your uncle said you needa firm hand.'_ The words fly unbidden through her head and the air is suddenly too thick and warm.

“…I think we have come to an understanding.” Their eyes are all on her, but she can’t seem to move. Captain Flynn smiles amiably at Aunt and then hands Evelyn a small box. “Your morning gift, my dear. I know it’s a little early, but i think it will suit tonight”, he says. In a daze, she opens the box and hardly register the content or Aunt’s squeak over the opulent five-strand pearl choker with emerald pendant.

No one remarks the angry red marks it hides as it is fastened around her neck.


	2. Into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times calls for desperate measures, but who says that ensures sucess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings apply for this Chapter as well, abuse, threats of rape, blood, death and gore.

# Into the fire

The party is a blur. She doesn't know how she stays upright through it, but she does. _He_ stays by her side all night, making conversation and sharing amiable laughs with guests as if nothing has happened. As if he hasn't just torn her life apart and promised her hell. He is a monster. Whenever he lays a hand on the small of her back a fresh course of fear and disgust floods her veins. She doesn't touch food or drink all night, has no stomach for either. When the men retreat for drinks and cards, Evelyn can finally bid good night and leave his company.

The sanctity of her room is in sight and she sobs as the gravity of what has happened sinks in.

“Evelyn.”

Suddenly Aunt is there.

“Evelyn, what is the matter?”

“He... He is a monster, aunt”. She stutters through sobs and tears. “I cannot marry him. Please don't make me.”

The concern in Aunts face dissipates like mist evaporating before the sun.

“Lower your voice”, she sneers and then grips Evelyn’s upper arms in a tight hold.

“We tried to teach you right, your uncle and I”, she says, “but the damage was already done. You are spoiled, Evelyn. Captain Flynn is a respectable man, and he is wealthy. He is a great catch and you, my girl, should be grateful that he will have you.”

The words sends a chill through Evelyn’s bones. Aunt does not understand, she cannot possibly mean this.

“B-but... he choked me... H-he did ...unspeakable things...” The words clogs in her mouth, she can hardly get them out as they somehow make it all the more real, all the more ghastly and before she can explain Aunt breaks her off.

“If you had just heeded my word! I  _told_ you... Why do you always have to fight?”

Something freezes inside Evelyn as the last remnant of home and security crumbles.

Aunt and Uncle will not save her from this. They believe that Captain Flynn represent the guidance she needs and Evelyn realizes she is truly on her own. Aunt heaves a sigh and cups Evelyn’s cheek with a soft hand.

“He has the means to secure your living, Evelyn. Just do as he tells you and everything will be fine.” The tender smile is genuine, but gives Evelyn no comfort.

“It will be fine, Evelyn. You'll see.”

Misunderstanding Evelyn's frozen silence as acceptance, Aunt gives her a gentle kiss good night. Evelyn enters her room and closes the door securely. As soon as she is alone, she tugs the pearl necklace off, nearly tearing it in the process and throws it on the vanity in the corner.

She is distraught, dishevelled and exhausted, but tonight she will not sleep. She has to leave. There is a ship leaving port at the break of dawn, and she has to be on it. 

Unfastening the clasps of her dress, Evelyn unties the skirt and finally access the lazing of the corset. Rid of it and breathing freely, she finally feels a little more like her own self. Anger returns, bringing energy and determination. She will be all right. She will make a life for herself somewhere else, away from here. If this is what Aunt and Uncle wants for her, then she is better off without them.

She has already considered it, weighed her options in her mind when Aunt and Uncle would not see eye to eye with her, but now she realizes she never thought it would actually come to this. Yet she has thought it through, made imaginary plans in anger, and now she _knows_ what to do.

She gathers the few belongings she needs, the jewellery she owns, a spare shift and the simple grey dress stolen in the laundry a couple of weeks back and bundles it up. On the small table rests a gift from one of the maids, a small meal consisting of a loaf of bread, some cheese and a small keg of watered down ale. She folds them in a separate bundle using a napkin and weighs the lot in her hand. She cannot take much, but these are the essentials. Evelyn is satisfied.

There is just the last final touches left. Evelyn walks to the bed, ruffles the covers to look like someone is lying there, asleep. Then she sits down by the vanity and sets to transform herself.

\---

If anyone looked outside, they might think they saw a young man sneaking through the shadows of the garden, but no one does. No one notices the figure, keeping to the edges where the light of the party inside the house doesn’t reach. No one seems to spare a second look as the figure slips onto the road and walks casually through the streets. No one notices the fair skin under the thin smear of dirt. The straw hat drawn down on the front covers newly cut bangs and fair hair pulled back in a wrapped ponytail at the base of the neck. The figure moves indifferently, though the clothes are unfamiliar, the feel of them unrestricted and exposed. Passing unnoticed through the rougher districts near the harbour where dunks and whores mill about on the street is a feat bringing confidence to a wary heart. All the way to the eerie silence of the dock, she walks unnoticed. The mist clings to every surface and the only thing heard is the hulls gentle moans of protest against the shifting weight of masts and rigging. There she stops, weighs her options as her gaze searches for the night watch aboard the ship. But the ship is silent, and with a glance along the pier, she reaches a decision and disappears aboard the ship.

\---

Evelyn waits with baited breath as the ship comes alive in the early hours of morning. Light filters through the three grates above and leaves just enough light to discern silhouettes of barrels around her and the shift of figures moving on the decks above.

She is well hidden. No one will see her where she rests, against the hull, behind a row of barrels, and yet she has not been able to sleep. The hair at the base of her neck stands on end, knowing there will be a search launched as soon as someone discovers her absence, and Evelyn feels as if they are already on her tail and breathing down her neck.

Not until the ship leaves port, putting distance between her and Uncle’s house does she calm down. Only then does the familiar smells of the ship sinks in, the tar and old timbre filling her senses like the scent of a mother, soothing her worries. Soon the gentle roll of the ship lulls her to sleep.

She startles awake at nightfall as the grate above her head rumbles against the deck and the hatch is opened. Covering her mouth with both hands, she lies completely still and hears two sailors climb into the hull. The capstan rumbles as the men shift a barrel under the opening, then manouver it into the net before shouting for the men above to hoist it up. The capstain sounds again before the net returns and the men repeats the process. Her heart beating hard against the ribcage, Evelyn wonders how many barrels they need, if they will remove her cover and find her place of hiding, but as the third barrel is hoisted up, the sailors leave. Evelyn lets out the breath she is holding.

She has hidden amongst the water barrels. Of course, there will be there each day to supply the sailors. She rubs the remnants of sleep and nerves from her eyes. There are plenty of barrels left, and it will be several days before they reach her spot of hiding. There is no need to worry.

She has no clue as to how late it is, but her stomach is growling. She eats a little, then pass time staring blindly into the darkness and reminisce of brighter days, sailing with her father. Time passes slowly.

Evelyn falls asleep again some time during the early hours of morning and wakes again when the sun is high in the sky.

Her mouth is parched. She picks up the keg and gages the amount left before taking a small sip. It has to last.

She knows not how far they are destined, but hopes the ship will make a stop at one of the nearby ports where she can lose herself in the masses or sell her valuables and barter her way onto another ship to another port. She didn’t really think things through before she left, but now, in the gloom of the hull there is plenty of time to mull things over. She pushes the worry to the back of her mind. There is no sense in worrying about tomorrow’s trouble, but as the day grows old and her supplies dwindle, worry is what she does.

Moreover, there are other pressing needs making themselves known. Even though she has had next to nothing to drink, Evelyn has to pee. She cannot relieve herself here, below deck. It would be disgusting and the smell was bound to give her away. She does not look forward to the prospect, but she will have to go topside and make it to the head.

There is nothing to do about it but wait for nightfall and the cover of darkness.

When the ship is quiet, Evelyn thread careful steps back up through the ship. Most of the crew are asleep, snoring and breathing deeply as they rest in their hammocks strung up on the gun deck. They sway with the roll of the ship and stays ignorant as Evelyn slips past. Outside however, there are sailors on duty. There is no way to make it to the head of the ship without being seen, and Evelyn knows the only way she’ll manage is through deception. She stills her breathing and straightens her back, assumes a posture she hopes look manly and then step onto the deck.

The few lanterns bleeding a warm sheen to the deck doesn’t change the fact that most of it is doused in darkness. Evelyn tries to walk casually toward the head while staying out of the light, avoiding the few sailors while seeming inconspicuous. Thankfully, no one notices her. They carry on with their chores and mistake her for another sailor on a nightly errand. 

She finds the head of the ship vacant. Evelyn finishes as quickly as she can and trudge back, fighting not to give in to the urgency creeping up her spine. She can hardly believe her luck as she slips past the sleeping men and makes it to the orlob deck and slips through the hatch unnoticed. Safely back in the cover of her den, the sounds of the ship continues undisturbed and Evelyn falls asleep with her heart filled with pride.

\---

A new day arrives with a stiff back and sore muscles. Apparently, barrels makes for an uncomfortable bed. Evelyn stretches her arms above her head and arches her back, yawning silently. Absentmindedly, she wonders what time is as she relaxes. Suddenly her fingers graces something cold and metal, leaning against a stack. It’s the ring of a barrel, dismantled to reduce Storage once it was emptied. Now it pivots and before she can stop the movement, it falls between the stacks and disappear with a loud clatter.

Evelyn freezes.

On the orlop deck above a set of footfalls halts.

Evelyn lies deathly still and doesn’t breathe. It feels like hours pass before the footfalls reluctantly retreats and there is silence once more.

She ought to find another hiding place now, crawl further into the hull and away from the ruckus she made. Hurriedly, she puts on the straw hat and collect the few items she brought, but before she is finished, several sets of feet descends the stairs. They halt on the orlob deck above, and then the hatch over the subsequent compartment is thrown open. Sailors enter the hull, before the hatch above her head too is removed.

“I heard something rattle down ‘ere,” one of the men says.

“Migh’ ave just been one of them barrel rings,” another muses, unconcerned.

“Nah. There’s hardly a roll, mate. Somethin’ set it off.”

There is a pause as the men quiet down to listen. Evelyn’s heartbeat resounds in her ears until she is sure the men must hear it too. Then a voice booms out:

“Come out come out where ever ya are!”

The voices sounds threateningly close. Evelyn flinches and squeezes her eyes closed. _Please, pleasepleaseplease go away!_ The hull slips into deadly silence again, and Evelyn hopes with all her heart that they’ll give up, that they will think the hull vacant and move on when all of a sudden a hand seize her arm and hauls her backwards from her lair.

A terrified shriek leaves her lips as the sailor roars in victorious laughter.

“I _told_ ya I heard sometin’!” he says as he pushes Evelyn toward his mates. Strong grips wraps around her wrists and upper arms and she is forced into the light.

Evelyn hangs her head low, but her mind races. She knows stowaways are made to pay penalty for sneaking passage. Some have to slave aboard ship for a time before they are put ashore. She has even heard of cases of keelhauling. If she is lucky she might be given some menial tasks and be able to work her way aboard the ship until they reach port. If not she'll have to barter for passiage. It all depends on staying in character, though. Miraculously the straw hat has stayed on her head so far and they have not caught on to her true gender. They mistake her for a young man, just like the night owls of Kingston, and she prays it will stay that way. Evelyn grits her teeth and fight back the tears threatening to spill. She doesn’t want to know what they’ll do if they find out she is a woman.

The sailors haul her up the stairs and into the bright sunlight on the main deck. One of the sailors, the one who dragged her from the lair takes up a front position as they march across the deck. As he hails for the Captain Evelyn feels all eyes turning her way, and the hostility rolling off the men when they see her, a lazy stowaway letting them toil for her passage.

“Caught a rat below deck capt’n,” the sailor reports as the Captain approaches. Evelyn keeps her head down and hopes for an easy sentence, prepares to lower her voice if she has to give a plea or barter, but the Captain only flicks a gaze her way before he speaks.

“Boasman, let the cat out of the bag. Twenty lashes,” he says and turns on his heel to leave.

_No!_

The hands holding her arms tighten as her body goes rigid in fear. Around her, the men laugh reproachfully at her angst. She thrashes and tries to resist being dragged across the deck, but she has nowhere near the strength of the men holding her, and they have practice restraining men. Unceremoniously, she is bent over one of the canons on deck. Her jacket and west are removed to jeers and laughter from the crew. Evelyn resists with all her might. Her voice resound in desperate shouts of ‘No.’ ‘No!’ ‘NO!’ And then the shirt is drawn up and over her head.

The deck goes eerily silent.

With her naked back exposed, her narrow waist and round hips leave little doubt among the men of her gender. The cold, unyielding metal digs into her skin as she heaves panicked breaths of air. A blade slides flat against her back before severing the wrapping around her chest. Then a hand grabs hold of her hair, pulling her head back. There is no way to hide herself as her hair comes lose in golden cascades around her shoulders. Terrified tears roll down her cheeks in grimy rivets on her skin as she meets the eyes of one of the ships officers.

The captain returns, the unexpected silence of the crew drawing him back. He walks into her line of sight wearing a befuddled expression and takes in the scene before him. Within a second of processing, his demeanour shifts. He crosses a gaze with the officer and there is a gleam of sly understanding between them, before the captain address the sailors. 

“On closer inspection, it seems it wasn’t a rat stored in our larders. This…" he says and gestures to Evelyn who is pulled back to her feet, shirt barely keeping her modest, “…this is a pearl in the making, a diamond in the rough, if you will.” The sailors light up in wry grins of some mutual understanding.

“What do you say we polish her up?”

A unanimous cheer of 'Ay' resounds on the main deck and the captain smiles. Evelyn has a feeling her position has turned from bad to worse.

“I can pay,” Evelyn says, voice pitifully shrill and desperate. “I can pay my fair!”

The Captain turns and eyes her condescendingly.

“We don't accept passengers,” he says. “If you could pay your way, you should have sought passage on another ship.”

“You don't understand... I had to leave... I had no other choice.” She sobs a desperate plea, hoping there is kindness somewhere in his cold heart. His smile only widens in a not too friendly grin.

“Oh, i understand perfectly,” he snarls. “You ran away, and no one knows where you are.” He spares her a onceover, raking his eyes up and down her body. “Don't fret, girl we'll make sure they never find you.” The words does nothing to soothe Evelyn’s worries as he turns to address his officer.

“Langdon!”'

The first officer snaps to attention as the captain gives his orders. “Show our guest to my quarters and find her something more suitable to wear.”

“Ay captain!” Her captors haul her along after the first officer as activity on deck resumes, the sailors returning to their duties. Evelyn stumbles along, tears streaming down her cheeks. Their threats might be vague and hazy, but the meaning plain enough and she cannot help but fear their intent.

There is no running away from this, no way to leave when the ship is at sea. She can only hope to find a chance to run when it docks. Until then she has to survive and endure whatever comes.

They take her to the great cabin at the stern of the ship, where bright sunlight filters in through planes of glass. It’s almost as bright as outside and contrasts widely with the darkness of the interiors decks.

“Taylor. Fill the washbasin.”

The first officer, Langdon she recalls, issues the order without sparing the sailor a glance, and one of the men lets go the grip on her arm. He fetches the washbasin before he exits, while the other stays, his grip digging firmly into her skin even though there is nowhere for her to run.

Her eyes skim the room. It’s a spacious cabin, luxuriously furnished with gilt leather chairs and carved wooden panelling depicting wild animals. In another setting, she might have been impressed, but now she takes it in without appreciating anything.

The first officer opens a large chest at the back of the room and rummages around within. When he finds what he searches for, he stands and shakes it out with a satisfied exclamation. It's an emerald green dress, Evelyn realizes. The thing has quarter length sleeves and a deep neckline where a worn piece of lace hangs loose. He folds the dress over a chair as Taylor returns and places the basin of water on a small side table. 

“Return to your duties,” Langdon says, and without a word, the sailors exit and close the door behind them as they leave.

Landon pulls out a chair and drags it across the floor to place it in front of the door before he sits down.

“Wash up,” he says and motions to the washbasin.

Evelyn clenches her hands and looks about for a towel, but there is nothing. Just the basin of water and a bar of soap.

“Go on,” the first officer says.

She steps up to the table and wash her hands, before bending over and washing her face, neck and armpits. The dirt trickles in rivets and swirls in the basin, as days of grime leave her skin. Suddenly, she caches a glimpse of Langdon, leaning against the door and languidly watching her behind. Evelyn flushes deeply and finishes up in a hurry, drying off with the shirt she still wears before turning to face him.

He runs his eyes up and down her body once, before meeting her gaze.

“Dress,” he says and motions to the garment draped over the chair. Evelyn picks it up. It’s a simple dress, with a lace-up front and built in corset. The eyelets look as if they have been torn and sewn back together. She stops inspecting it then, and looks about the room in search for a place to change, but there is nothing there to screen her from his view. As she understands his intention to watch, she swallows and sets to the task, putting the dress back over the Chair and turning her back at Langdon, before loosening the draw-sting holding the shirt together at the neck. She sneaks her arms out of the sleeves and pin the neckline under her arms, before trying to find the hem of the dress. Apparently, it’s not to his satisfaction.

Langdon is suddenly behind her and with a solid tug, he rips the shirt from her hold. Evelyn covers herself as she lets out a startled shriek. His hands have already moved to the belt keeping her trousers up, and within seconds that too is gone and her trousers falling down. Dressed only in her underpants Evelyn flinches as he leans close.

“There is a time for modesty, Miss, but that time has passed… We are to be closely acquainted, you and I.” The back of his fingers runs gently down her spine and bile rises in Evelyn’s throat. Langdon grins crookedly and saunters back to his seat, before motioning toward the dress.

“Please continue”, he says as if he’s entertained.

Evelyn bites back an angry retort as she shirks into the dress. It’s too small, and the is neckline too low. Its scandalously revealing. She lazes up the front and pull at it to cover herself the best she can, but no matter what, the dress will not preserve her modesty.

“Now, let’s see,” the first officer says. Evelyn lets out a sigh. Then prideful anger returns tenfold. She will not cower before him. For as long as she’s able, she’ll fight. For as long as she can, she will resist and stay true to herself. She straightens her back and turns, facing him with a scowl worthy of a death curse.

A fleeting, lopsided grin crosses his face at her defiance. He is about to retaliate, some sleazy taunt hovering on his lips, but then a ruckus on the deck above draws his attention. He stands and turns his full attention to what’s happening outside. Not a second passes before the alarm sounds.

“ALL HANDS ON DECK!”

With a stern expression he springs into action, picking up a short length of rope and urgently ties her hands together. It's tight and grits into her skin, but he does’nt heed her distress, nor does he particularly care as he pushes her unceremoniously back against the bulkhead and forces her to sit, then lobs the rope around her before securing it with another knot.

The door flies open and one of the lower officers barges in.

“They're flying the red!” he says as he heaves for air. The lower officer holds the door as Langdon stands and exits the cabin in hurried strides. Outside, feet are thundering down the stairs and the gun port lids bang against the hull as the canons are shifted into position.

Left alone in the room, Evelyn tries to lift her hands to wary at the knot tying her hands, but the rope has been passed underneath something behind her back and she is stuck. There is not enough allowance for her to reach. She shifts and puts her weight into straining against the tie. It digs into her skin before she can get proper leverage. She shifts and trashes until she ends up warm and fatigued, the skin of her wrists rubbed raw. In the end she can only stare at the infuriatingly easy tie, unable to access it or do anything to free herself.

Then a volley of muted booms sounds as if explosions far away. Realization at what they mean hits seconds before cannon balls tare through the ship. Evelyn cries out in terror as wood splinters with a deafening crash and bits and pieces of interior fly through the air. The timber creaks and grumbles as the ship tremble in the aftermath of the blow. When she looks up, there is a gaping hole in the ship’s side where she can see the sky.

Above and below the activity grows frantic and soon the ship answers fire. Evelyn curls up in a ball against the bulkhead, instinctively hiding from the unseen threat as the seconds before the inevitable retaliation ticks by. Then, there is another boom, much closer this time as the other ship strikes back.

The hit is severe. It resounds through the hull like a long-drawn death rattle as one of the masts splits and cracks. It topples into the sea and as sails and rigging are towed through the water, the ship is forced hard about. Anything not tethered down sails across the floor and Evelyn cries out, thinking the ship is about to capsize, but instead it stills, nearly dead in the water.

By then there are thumps along the starboard side as entry hooks latch onto the railing. Then sounds of battle ensue, steel meeting steel, guns firing and the angry roars of fighting men. Evelyn closes her eyes and wills her ears not to hear the screams or the sickening sounds of men dying as steel tares through human flesh. It goes on forever, the cries of the wounded rattles her to the core until panic nips at her neck.

It doesn’t calm as cheers of victory resounds and the wounded stills. Nor does the silence thereafter soothe her nerves. It’s sickeningly scary. If her captors won the battle, they will soon return, and she has no query as to who will bear the brunt of their agitation. 

And if they lost... Her mind filters through the possible attackers. ‘ _They’re flying the red’_ the sailor said _._ Who sails under a red flag? By the amount of firepower, she doubts it’s a merchant vessel. The British navy is known to fly the red ensign, but the Brits would not attack a British merchant vessel. She wrecks her brain to see if she's heard anything of skirmishes' of late, but comes up empty. French or Spanish, both are possibilities, but none of them sails under solid red flags. Her face pressed against her knees, fighting off the ricing panic, Evelyn decides she hopes for the French.

Anything is better than her captors.

She turns her focus on loosening the tie again. As she shifts position, her feet hits the side table, stopped in the middle of the room after the sharp turn. The thing tilts and clatters to the floor, spilling the content of a small drawer within.

Barely a second passes before the cabin door is thrown open and two sailors barges in, cutlasses drawn and ready.

Evelyn’s skin crawls.

These aren't French nor Spaniards. They're pirates. She sucks down a gasp and thugs at the binding with all her might in an effort to get away.

If they speak, she doesn't notice. Too wedged in fear she numbly shirks away as the rope tying her down is severed. They haul her to her feet and drag her from the room. The pirates reek of days of honest work, of gunpowder and rum. She feels sick. Evelyn balks at the smell, until they reach the deck where it blanches against the stench. The stink of blood and death is instantly cloying and instinct _screams_ at her to flee. She digs her heels in, only to slip on the slick surface that she realizes is covered in blood. And then she sees the dead. The bodies of broken men scattered across the deck. She sobs out a broken sound and look away, only to notice the victors.

The pirate crew is gathered mid ship, cutlasses still drawn even though the fight is over. Every gaze she meets is dark and threatening, hostility rolling off the crowd. Her limbs are numb and doesn’t seem to react to her will. Still, the pirate tugs her onward unfazed past the men still standing towards the front of the crowd. The pirates parts to let them pass. Before the mast, a crowd of sailors are lined up within the ring, standing on their knees in the sun. At the end of the line, a sailor spits heated words to what must be the pirate captain. He stands deathly still, arms relaxed along his sides as the officer throws curses and bile his way. Evelyn watches With disbelief his crazed courage when without a word of warning the captain plunges his cutlass through the man. His expression doesn’t even seem to change when the man slumps forth and he puts a boot to his chest to retract the sword.

Too shocked to even blink, she witnesses the mans death and the daemon of a man who now holds her faith. Another broken sound leaves her throat as she clenches her eyes shut, unable to take in any more. Her guide trudges unfazed to the end of the line, steers her to face portside like the rest of the captives, then forces her to kneel with a tug and a firm push behind her knee.

Her heart is thundering in her ears, beating against her ribcage until she feels herself tremble with the force of it. She thought she was in a predicament before, but this lot is lethal!

She heaves down panicked breaths as a pair of boots halt in front of her. The pale blue lapels of the coat within her view tells her it’s the pirate captain come. Evelyn closes her eyes, she can’t breathe, there is no air, no where to run, no way to escape.

“What's this, then Martin?” the pirate captain he says addressing her guide.

“Found her tethered to the bulkhead of the Great cabin, Captain.”

She can feel their eyes boring into her, before the pirate captain lifts her tied hands. He is silent for a moment before a gentle hand beneath her chin coaxes her to look up.

She doesn't want to see him, doesn't want to face another trial today, but there's not much choice. The first thing she notices is the sprays of blood covering his coat, the second the amount of weaponry he carries, a cutlass at each side and double sets of bandoliers strapped across his chest holding several pistols. She cannot see his eyes, the upper half of his face draped in shadow under a hood, but his mouth is a stern line of determination.

He says nothing at first, just runs a finger across the knuckles of her right hand, then flicks a glare along the line of kneeling men.

“Have you been hurt, lass?” he asks, his voice low but carrying across the silent deck. She knows what he's really asking. If they have used her or taken her in violence.

Her throat feels constricted and tight. She heaves for air and along the line one of the sailors looses his nerve.

“We never touched her!” he shouts. The pirate tilts his head and regards the man in silence before returning his attention to Evelyn.

“Lass?” he says.

Evelyn shakes her head.

“N-no, they haven’t,” she manages and doesn’t want to consider what difference it makes to him.

“Adé”, the captain calls, then he makes a jerking motion with his hand, and suddenly there is a blade protruding his wrist. He cuts thorough the ropes tying her hands together as a tall dark man appears at his side. “Take her aboard the Jackdaw. Get her out of the sun and assign someone to stand guard.”

“Ay, Kenway. I’ll take care of it,” the tall one answers. Evelyn feels as if she’ll faint as the captain leaves, trudging back up the line to continue where he left off.

The wind takes his voice as she is pulled across the gangplank to the smaller ship lying abreast and Evelyn is relieved she doesn’t have to witness the slaughter that continues. She is showed into another captain’s cabin, stumbling on shaky legs as her newest jailer lets her go.

“Wait here,” is the order she receives, before he leaves and closes the door behind him.

Evelyn crumbles to the floor and heaves into a chamber pot, her body finally collapsing under the pressure. She retches pure bile, body contracting in spasms until exhausted she stills, curled up and trembling on the floor.


	3. Set me free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!  
> Trigger warning for attempted suiside.

# Set me free

Passively, Evelyn surveys the sparsely furnished room she is in, the wall-hanging with the odd symbol in the middle, the unmade bed, the table where charts and maps hang down the sides until her eyes locks onto something under a wooden case. It takes her a moment to realize it’s a knife, but when she does a spark of self-preservation ignites and she dives for it as if it were a lifeline. She clutches it in her hand, reassured, without considering the fact that she doesn't have the first thought how to use it. When the door opens only moments later, she whips around and keeps the blade extended.

The captain halts in the doorway in a fleeting moment of surprise, before a lopsided grin crosses his face. Evelyn’s spirit dwindles. She grips the knife a little tighter, seeking the assurance she felt only seconds before, but it doesn’t return.

The captain steps over the threshold.

“That's a riggers knife, lass,” he says and steps slowly forward. “The tip’s been blunted. Doubt you'd be able to inflict much harm.” She keeps the knife aloft and clench her jaw, trying to find determination within. He takes another step, calmly, as if trying not to alarm a startled animal, and then suddenly he pounces.

A hand wraps around her wrist and her knife hand is forced to the side as she is yanked off her feet and into a tight hold against his chest.

It's hard to hold onto the hilt with the pressure against her wrist, but Evelyn holds onto it for life. _If she lets go she has nothing, if she lets go she is back in the hell she was, if she lets go…_

“Drop the knife,” he says, so close to her ear, she feels his breath against her skin and then the pressure against the base of her palm turns painful. Evelyn releases the knife with a yelp. He immediately lets go and bends down to pick up the blade, not even caring when he exposes his back.

“Don't _ever_ threaten a captain aboard his ship, lass,” he says as he straightens and puts the knife away. It's more irritation than anger lining his voice and Evelyn feels as if he is reprimanding her for being ignorant.

He tugs off the bandolier and hangs the cutlasses on the wall before unbuckling the leather armour and throwing it in a corner. Then he strokes back the hood covering his head and runs a hand through his hair.

He is younger than she thought, far from the senior sailor of the ship. His hair is fair, bleached by the sun that has bronzed his skin. His face rugged with uncut beard, but most striking are the set of eyes that now turns attention towards her. They are a piercing, pale blue, like the sky a winter morning. He has lined them in kohl and under a stern set brow makes him seem even more severe and unyielding.

Evelyn senses are on sharp alert. He has made no implication of his intent, but the hairs on her neck still stands on end. He sits down by the table and leans back in his seat. When he orders her to sit down, she warily complies.

“So, what's your story, lass,” he asks. “Why were you on that ship?”

He sits as if relaxed and indifferent, but those stark blue eyes watch her keenly, and Evelyn isn’t fooled. Whatever causes his curiosity, can only bode badly and she will not ail the itch. She has to give an answer though.

What should she tell him? How much has he already figured out? Surely, that she's a stowaway, but what else? Telling him the truth is out of question. No one will ever know who she truly is.

“My father died,” she starts, her voice low and unsure. “I have to get to Port Royal to my mother. She needs my help now she's alone.”

He nods tentatively and his blue eyes never leaves, never seems to blink, even. It's unnerving, and Evelyn looks away.

“I was just trying to make my way there,” she says and can’t believe she is sitting here, lying to a pirate in order to save her life.

“What's your name?”

“Emma Dean,” she says without hesitation using a name she took more than once before. “I am… I was a nursery maid for the Pascoe family. They gave me leave to go.”

Spinning the tale is easy once she gets going, knowing it is little likely he has intimate knowledge of the Kingston upper class families or their staff.

She meets his eyes, feeling his gaze pierce her concience and has to look away. Does he buy the story? His face does not tell and he has made no comment except from the initial nod.

She swallows. If she is eventually to escape, she needs to get to a large port, somewhere there are plenty of people and if she plays her cards right, if she makes him believe she is no one, then maybe, just maybe she will be able to get there unscathed. She bites her lip following her hopeful thoughts and startles when he leans forward and places something on the table in front of him.

“How do you explain this?”

On the table rests her small bundle of fortune. It's still wrapped up but she knows what it is immediately. Before she thinks to act indifferently and swear it off, she knows she has given herself away as the corner of his lip draws up minutely.

“It's...” How the hell does she explain this? Her mouth goes dry and she swallows.

“It’s... I took it.” She is loath to admit theft, but there is no other conceivable way a maid would come by such items. Anything to save her skin and avoid Kingston. Moreover, he is a pirate.

It’s not like he is one to judge. 

“You stole it?” he says amused. “They gave you leave to go outside of season, and then you stole from them.” He tuts mockingly and then his eyes acquires shrewd glow.

“Where's your severance pay, lass?”

 _Oh, peaches!_ She should have thought of that.

“I didn't get any… That's why I stole the jewellery. They owed me, anyway.” The explanation is paper-thin. She can see it herself, and she expects him to pursue it and push her further, but he just flicks his gaze away, studies his hands before continuing.

“And then you left Kingston,” he says. “Why would you gamble passage as a stowaway? You had the means to pay your fair.”

Evelyn holds her tongue. Maybe it’s not the best idea to elaborate. He seems to be looking for holes in her story and she does not fancy this game.

“I had to go,” she says and leaves it at that. There is a gleam in his eyes as she fleetingly meets his gaze.

“You spin a sorry tale,” he says, but the tone holds little sympathy. He rises to his feet and walks around the table, then settles on the edge of it by her side.

Evelyn is acutely aware of how close he is, how he diminishes her size and strength. Her hands are balled up in her lap so tight her knuckles whiten and his gaze shifts there, before he reaches and takes her right one in his own. Then he runs his thumb over her knuckles again. It’s oddly tender and contrast the firm grip of those strong and callused hands.

“Only one problem, lass,” he says. “I don't buy it. Let’s see if I can make a better one, shall we?”

Evelyn clenches her jaw in foreboding and refrain from answering. It does not deter him as he continues unfazed.

“You're not serving the Pascoe family, but you're acquainted to them. You're a little lady, ain't you?”

Evelyn shakes her head and clench her jaw again, frustrated at how he has deduced the truth so effortlessly. Another tug at the corner of his mouth tells her he knows it too.

“And those jewels weren't stolen, they're your’s. No woman of service has pierced ears.” His hand grazes the skin of her neck and Evelyn fliches. He huffs a peeved sound. Mockingly he continues.

“You think you could pass for a servant? These hands haven’t seen a day of labour all your life!”

Evelyn rips her hand from his hold and stares back at him. He looks down his nose at her, seizing her up.

“You were born with money,” he comments, “but there is _some_ truth to this tale. I believe you had to run.” His lip draws up in a belligerent smile. “What was it you ran from, lass? A controlling father? An unfavourable marriage?”

Treacherous tears are welling in her eyes as she shakes her head in denial, as he regards her with those blue eyes, knowing he has damn well hit the nail.

“We'll see when we get to Kingston,” he says indifferently. “I bet there'll be a nice reward promised for your safe return.”

“No, please...,” Evelyn starts, but then he breaks her off, sharply.

“You’d rather have stayed on that ship?” he demands as anger seeps into his voice. Evelyn freezes. For a second she has forgotten whom she is talking to, a killer without regret for the lives he takes.

“No?” He presses, boring a harsh glare into her. Evelyn cringes and demurely shakes her head. He snorts before continuing tersely.

“You're free to roam the ship as you like until we get to Kingston. Just stay out of the way and don’t hinder work.”

She regards him warily, doesn’t know if he is serious or if it’s part of some bad joke. She decides not to acquire further, just grants him a tentative nod. That concludes business it seems as he gets to his feet.

“Now I’ve got a ship to tend to,” he says as he crosses the cabin and opens the door. “If you will excuse me,” he says, and Evelyn has no choice but to leave.

Warily Evelyn steps out on deck. The door closes behind her and she is left standing on the deck with itchy anti-climax inside. She is unnerved that he has seen right through her lies, but in hindsight se should have taken greater care. She had taken too much time deliberating before giving her answers. Moreover, he was a pirate. Pirates deal in secrets and dishonesty every day. Her lies must have seemed paper thin.

Why did she think she could con him? She should just have come clean and told him the truth. She heaves a sigh. All is not lost yet. Kingston is two and a half days away, and she has to figure out a way to turn his mind, but first she needs to find a somewhere to rest.

Evelyn avoids looking at the other vessel when she examines the ship, searching for somewhere to sit down. _‘Stay out of the way,’_ he said and Evelyn knows that leaves very few options once they set sail, but for now the ship lies still. She settles for leaning against the bulwark, and tuck her knees under her chin. There, she has a full view of the deck and the sailors moving about.

The pirates are emptying the hull of the other ship, walking back and forth between the two vessels, loading what valuables and necessities deemed important enough to pilfer. She disregards the shaded looks and sideway glances they throw her way as they carry on but keeps a wary eye at anyone who comes close. As nothing continues to happen and the pirates steadily disregard her Evelyn’s nerves settles Down.

She shifts a little, settling against the bulwark and resting her hands in her lap. She is exhausted and the cool shaded spot, comfortable. She just intends to rest, to close her eyes against the glare of the sun. Before she knows, Evelyn falls asleep.

\---

The first thing she register is how parched her mouth is, the next the hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. Suddenly she startles aware, remembering where she is. The hand disappears instantly.

“Easy, lass” a voice laughs. “Just thought ye’ shouldn’t lay here sleeping in the sun.”

Evelyn blinks away sleep and focuses on the man crouching at her side. He sits a small distance away, wearing an amused expression as he extends a hand, offering her a tankard.

“Ye’ should drink some,” he says and when she takes the cup, he stands and returns to work.

Evelyn downs the content in deep swallows, feeling the throb of a headache pound against her skull.

She should not have fallen asleep. Her back is sore from the crumpled position. She stands and stretches her sore muscles, and notice the change in activity around her.

The pirates have finished emptying the gutted ship. It sits decidedly lower in the water than before, despite the lessened load. The sun sits higher in the sky as well. She must have slept at least a couple of hours.

The men are collecting the gangplanks and untying the breast lines tying the two vessels together, then push the Jackdaw away from the sinking ship.

They sails are already let loose and the riggers climbing back down to the deck. Evelyn takes one look at the rigging and knows that no matter where she stays on the main deck, she will be in the way. Gingerly she glances towards the stairs to the quarterdeck.

He did tell her to stay out of the way, and her only real option is to move to the quarterdeck, or go down below. Determined she climbs the stairs, and feels the gaze of the quartermaster and the captain as she ascends, but then both turn and disregards her, as the sails are set.

She stays by the railing watching the sails unfurl in the wind as the sheets billows out. Euphoria suddenly rushes through her veins, throwing her into a memory of her last trip on her father’s ship, about to embark on another journey. It’s so powerful and vivid, yet so far away. The mirage falls with a painful sting and with it, the surge of elation turns to Ash.

She hides the sudden heartache, turns her back on the ship and the men at the helm as she fights to bring her feelings back under control. With her father’s death, she lost more than a loving parent. He was the one who showed her how to navigate by the stars, who taught her how to barter and judge a fair deal. He made her believe she could do anything and promised her a life of independence. He was as much a friend as a father.

With a deep breath, Evelyn pushes regret and sorrow to the back of her mind. Instead, she turns to the teeming activity amidships. She watches the pirates at work, at first indifferently and empty, a means to distract herself from grief. Little by little, the bustle catch her attention until she watches with growing respect. She didn't expect the fluent efficiency, nor the amiable tone between the pirates. The tune of a familiar chanty reaches her ears as the men put their backs into pulling the lines tight, hoisting the outer jib. On the Levart side, sailors flake down the braces, preparing the final stage of the turn. Somehow, she has always imagined pirates as brutal, aggressive, filthy and disorganized. The Jackdaws are anything but and it surprises her. The captain’s voice booms out over the deck.

“Aft let go!”

The yardarms turn as the sails billows out, stark white against the blue sky. The ship continues to turn, and the captain watches the sails, waiting for the right moment to issue the next command, when the sheets starts luffing.

“Brace round forward!”

Evelyn follows the course of the turn and the men at work on deck. Somehow, they seem less frightening as they proficiently carry out the tasks, so familiar to her.

“Set the courses!”

The pirates tie off all lines as the Jackdaw slowly picks up speed and the activities on the main deck subsides. The captain flicks out a small compass and compare it to the ships baring, then adjusts the wheel before flipping the compass shut and tucking it away inside his coat. He hands the wheel over to the quartermaster and with a slap on his shoulder; he brushes past Evelyn without a glance her way and disappears down the stairs and inside his cabin.

\---

Evelyn hovers outside the cabin door, walking back and forth as she works up the courage to disturb the pirate captain. _Captain Kenway_ , she recalls, sopping outside his door. Before she loses her nerve again, she lifts a hand and knocks, then without waiting for an answer, she opens the door.

He is standing by his desk, leaning over the charts as she enters, but flicks his eyes up and meets her gaze.

“Yes?” he says irritated and returns to studying the map before him.

“I want to barter,” she says. “I’ll pay you if you let me go.”

His lips draw up in a crooked smile, but he doesn’t bother to meet her eyes as he answers.

“And what do you have to barter with?” he says.

“The jewels,” she answers. “Take me to Port Royal, and they’re yours.”

At this, he laughs a short derisive laughter, as if he is thoroughly amused.

“They’re already in my possession.”

Evelyn bites her lip. The jewels were to secure her safety, to set her up once she got away. Now, he pockets it without regret leaving her with empty pockets. Prickled, Evelyn frowns. She still has an agile mind and two able hands.

“My income, then,” she says. “I’ll give you everything I make in a year.”

He is not laughing any more as he turns his attention to her.

“Your _income?_ And just what might that be, lass?” 

“I know trade. I’ll manage,” she answers crossing her arms over her chest.

Where before he was entertained he now seems unamused.

“A year of work might yield no income at all. Your return grants immediate profit,”

Feeling her freedom slip through her fingers once more, Evelyn grasps at straws.

“I will manage,” she repeats through clenched teeth as he continues to regard her.

“Lass,” he says. “You don’t have the first clue how to make it on your own. You're better off back with your family.”

“No I’m not!” Provoked, Evelyn realizes he thinks she’s just a spoiled girl, a pampered doll running because she doesn’t get her way.

His temper sparks as his patience wears thin.

“How long have ye’ been on the run? Three days? Four? How did you think that faired?”

There is too much on stake to back down, and Evelyn’s temper rises too.

“I would have been fine!” she states, “I would have escaped, eventually!”

“They were _slavers,_ lass,” he spits. “They would have fucked you till you broke, towed you half a world away, then sold you to the highest bidder.” He pointedly awaits her response, eyes dark with anger.

 _S-slavers?_ Evelyn’s blood runs cold and her mind goes blank in realization.

“I… I…”

“ _Believe_ me when I say, you're better off back home. I’m not setting you free, lass. I’m claiming that reward.”

He returns focus to the map before him and ignores her presence. The audience is over. Evelyn stays, trying to find another argument, but the information and his demeanour has taken the wind out of her sails. 

He measures along the map using a divider, pivoting along a imaginary line and Evelyn follows the process, absentmindedly. Captain Kenway halts, then lifts his head and glares her way. Evelyn gathers her wits about her and turns to leave when the cabin door opens. The quartermaster enters, and without sparing Evelyn a second glance, addresses the captain.

“Twelve knots, Kenway. Fair winds!” he says with a grin, and then exits as abruptly as he came.

_Twelve knots!_

Evelyn throws a glance back at the map, noting the ships position and the distance Kenway counted. The gears in her head kick into action as she calculates.

Twelve knots gives her even less time than she thought. Twelve knots means they’ll be back in Kingston by early light day after tomorrow.

A noise startles her from her thoughts and Evelyn meets the captain’s gaze again. There is thunder in his eyes now and Evelyn waists no more time before exiting.

\---

Night falls without another chance to approach Kenway. Moreover, she doesn’t know how to argue to change his mind. She has nothing to barter with, nothing she is willing to trade. Frustrated she paces the ship until a sailor brings her a meal of bread and water. Evelyn tries to get some of it down, but it seems to swell in her mouth and she soon puts it down.

What will happen when she returns to Kingston? Cold fear trickles down her spine, and she pushes the thought away.

The sun lowers and the sky turns a pale blue. She tucks her knees under her chin and pulls her feet under the skirt, watching the decent of the glowing orb until it lowers beneath the edge of the water. Then the quartermaster appears by her side and asks her to follow him. He leads her down below, to a row of hammocks strung between the guns on the gun deck and motions to the one at the end of the line.

“This will be yer’ bunk, milady,” he says and gives her a mock salute as he leaves. He doesn’t directly order her to stay, bur Evelyn senses she will be stretching their patience if she goes back upstairs. They want her safely below for the night, and gingerly Evelyn lays Down.

\---

Deep breaths of sleep fills the darkness of the gun deck. Evelyn lies awake, staring into the abyss, unable to rest. Her mind flitters from one thing to another, the noose of a marriage waiting in Kingston, the single-minded captain, and the great unknown waiting if. _If_ she makes it to Port Royal … she’ll... She has no clue. Maybe she could get a post as a nurse maid? She discards the thought in a heartbeat. No one hires maids without a reference, and no one hires run away girls. If she could just pose as a boy, she might secure a job, but that chance now rested on the bottom of the sea with her disguise.

The hammock sways gently with the roll of the ship, but Evelyn doesn’t continues to toss and turn through the night. When the faint light of dawn filters through the grate, she gets up and makes it onto the deck. There she paces back and forth in front of Kenway’s cabin until the glare of bright sunlight through his windows finally draws him from sleep.

He steps onto deck rubbing sleep from his face, then stretches his limbs with a wide yawn. Evelyn has wrecked her mind for hours, waited with creping urgency and dwindling patience and now he’s finally here, she cannot wait.

“Give me a chance,” she demands. “Just a single chance; that is all I ask for.”

“A chance?” he says. “ _You_ want a chance?” He regards her with dwindling patience and huffs, peeved and throws an arm out. “Do you think any of them were ever given a chance, lass?”

“I don’t care. I can’t go back to Kingston. You have to believe me, there is no life for me there.”

“I’ts a better life, than any of their’s…-” She breaks him off, before he can continue.

“You don’t know what it’s like…”

“NO! _You_ don’t know what it’s like. You have _no_ clue!”

She startles at his abrupt anger, wide-eyed as he stalks toward her. She steps until she’s out of retreating steps, pressed against the door of his cabin.

“ _You_ wouldn’t last a _day_ in Port Royal. Tell me; why should _I_ forfeit the reward, just for you to end up in a _whorehouse_ within the end of the week?”

“But…”

She doesn’t get to protest as a finger is pushed harshly into her chest.

“If you're so eager to serve, my men are more than willing to pay. Just say the word, Lass, and you may start gathering that year of payment right away.”

Stunned to silence, Evelyn blanches before snapping her mouth shut.

Kenway steps away angrily while the other pirates sniggers and chuckles covertly.

Disheartened, Evelyn takes a seat on one of the hatches. He is right. Her only asset is the one she is not willing to sell, the one she’ll be forced to give up one way or the other. A fleeting moment, she deliberates which is worse, working in a whorehouse and serving different men each night or living in in Kingston at the Monster’s mercy. Just the thought of it makes her feel sick and when breakfast is served, Evelyn declines.

She watches the water with unseeing eyes, trying to find a way out, trying to think of anyone who she could turn to for aid and draws a blank. No one will stand up for her; no one can protect her against a legal guardian. Her vision grows hazy as tear fills her eyes. There is no way out, no future but promised hell, anywhere she turns.

Yearn for her father returns like a physical pain. How she longs for his guidance and protection. How she wishes with all her heart he weren’t dead. Desolate, she dries away the tears falling down her cheeks.

She’d rather die than go back to Kingston.

Her eyes catches sight of the churning sea. The rolling blue, with white froth ridges. The element she loves so much... and then suddenly she sees the only way out. Her heart goes cold and her breath stills as she tentatively considers it an option.

She has wanted it before, in the black night when the loss of father was a gaping wound in her chest, and she could see no future. Wanted to follow after, beyond the veil of eternal sleep.

She’d rather die than go back to Kingston.

The thought doesn’t make her frightened. It makes her calm. To know there is another way gives reassurance.

Evelyn dries the remnants of tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightens. It’s nearly noon and it is time to barter, one last time. She gets to her feet and raise her head and when she turns towards the helm, Kenway meets her gaze as if he has been waiting for a reaction. As she ascends the stairs, he grins and says something to his quartermaster.

Evelyn’s gut boils with anger. Does he find her torment amusing? Is he _laughing_ at her turmoil? By the time she reaches the quarterdeck, Evelyn is livid. Kenway comes to greet her, but before he can even open his mouth, Evelyn is shouting at him.

“ _You have no right!_ NO right to send me back. Taking me there and claiming that reward makes you _no better_ than the slavers you _despise_! I _demand_ to be treated like a person! I _demand_ that you let me go! I demand…-”

His face turns a mask of contained rage and his fingers digs into her upper arms.

“Not! Another! Word!” he growls through gritted teeth.

“I de- demand,” Evelyn’s voice breaks as his grip grows painful.

“Another word of this,” Kenway growls, “and I’ll have you bound and gagged and tossed into the hull!”

Then he forces her backward down the stairs, half way carried, halfway stumbling, before she is shoved down to the deck.

“The quarter deck is off limits,” he says before shouting at the nearest pirate.

“Keep _Her Highness_ away from the helm.”

\--- 

The sun hovers low over the horizon, painting the few distant clouds in corals, rose and gold. Evelyn regards it without feeling, her features expressionless as if set in a mask. It's a fitting farewell. Her father used to love watching the final passing of the day into the ocean, the subtle shifts of light and colour, ever marvelled at the beauty of nature. She feels her father’s presence as the sun sets.

She is finally broken, given up. She hasn’t gotten close to Kenway the rest of the day, and now her time is up. Strangely, she isn’t upset. For the first time in days she is not afraid. She will not live a life of torture and abuse. Tonight will see the end of fear, the end of pain and torment. After tonight, no one will harm her. Tonight she will finally be safe. Tonight she will reunite with her father.

The sun drops a notch further, and she rises to her feet. No one reacts. They think she is just enjoying the sunset. They pay her no heed where they sit occupied with repairing sails and splicing rope.

The railing is but a few feet away. It's not too high, reaching just above mid-thigh, but she will have to climb atop it to reach her goal.

A final clench of her jaw. A final determined set of her mind and she grabs hold of her skirt and strides forth.

“Oi!”

She does not stop as the voice rings out, just steps upon the railing and hauls herself up by the rigging.

“STOP!”

The rays of the sun still reach her face as the ship erupts in action behind her.

Evelyn lets og.

Just as her world tilts, as she prepares for the cold embrace of the sea, someone grasps and caches her hand. Then several hands grabs her arms and the dark waters beneath reseeds as she is hauled back aboard the ship.

Evelyn screams her desperation as her plan falls to shreds. The last rays of golden light disappear, her goal and her calm chattered.

“NO! “

Feeling as if a noose is tightening around her neck, her sanity cracks.

As her feet touch the deck Evelyn fights herself free and make for the water anew, but by now there are several sailors in the way. She barrels into a person and howls in anger and desperation. Trashes and shouts as her hands are collected tightly against a chest and an arm sneaks around her back, trapping her in Place.

“Let me go! Let me go! LetmegoletmegoletmeGO!”

Her throat is burning, but Evelyn howls, besides herself. A voice is trying to calm her, lull her into safety, but it’s all a trap. There is no prospect of safety in her future, just abuse and torture and fear. She braces and bucks against the hold, trash and heave, but it’s not letting go. Her strength is waning, reseeding with each battling movement as she continues to fight. Kicking and screaming, she throws all her strength at breaking free. Soon, fatigue is burning through her muscles. Heart thundering, she has to pause a second and just Breathe.

“Easy. Easy now. Calm down lass,” Kenway’s voice coos against her hair, and she heaves for breath and howls, fights with all her might against the bastard. It doesn't last. Strength trickles from her limbs like water through a strainer. Her limbs trembles in exertion as she rigidly resists the firm grip.

“..a ration of rum should knock her out.”

“Ay. I think we'd better. Go fetch it will you.”

A fresh batch of fear sends adrenaline coursing through her veins, fuelling her strength. She rips her hands down, ducks and spins while avoiding the hands grabbing for her, trying to stop her escape. For a second she is free, but barely take a step away before she towed back in. Then someone pushes the back of her knee, forcing her down to her knees. She gasps for air, cannot seem to get anything down into her lungs where she is. All the while the voice relents, mulling words of reassurance into her ear.

By now, she is burnt out, shaking like a leaf. She gives one last trashing before several sets of hands stills her movement.

Her chin is grabbed in a tight hold and pressure put against the muscle of her jaw until she opens her mouth.

Tears fills her eyes as a bottle is forced between her teeth and her mouth is flooded with potent fluid. She gargles in protest and coughs through her nose.

“Just swallow it down, lass. It's time to stop fighting. It'll go down whether you want it or not.”

The drink is strong and burns her mouth and she shudders in disgust. She doesn’t want to comply, doesn’t want to give in, but between the strong grips holding her still, Evelyn can’t move.

Then someone pinches her nose closed.

“Swallow, lass,” Kenway pressures and somewhere inside Evelyn resigns.

She takes a gulp issuing a broken sound and is rewarded with a breath of air, but when she stops her nose is pinched once more. She’s made to swallow down the sweet and sticky substance until it burns her throat and glows like embers in her stomach. Then the bottle is removed, her jaw released, but she is still cradled tightly against Kenway’s firm chest. She is trembling uncontrollably, not able to still her breathing or relax.

She doesn't want to crave the nearness of this person holding her close, but right now it’s what she needs. His warmth, the steady sound of another heartbeat and the lulling reassurance of his voice, telling her she'll be all right. Slowly, her world lists as tingling warmth spreads numb fatigue in her limbs, before completely keeling over.


	4. A show of hands

# A show of hands

“Where the hell did all that strength come from?”

The men shift uneasy on their feet, shaken and wary now the situation is under control. On the deck, cradled against the captain lies the girl, dead drunk but still her breath is drawn in short burst and every few minutes she makes a brittle, shattered sound, as if in dire need. 

“S' not strength lad,” one of older sailors state. “S' pure desperation, that was.” 

A narrow moon hangs low in the sky as night has fallen. Kenway eases the grip on the girl. The fight in her has finally succumbed to the alcohol they forced down her throat. He shifts her weight and lobs a hand under her knees, then pulls her into his arms as he rises to his feet. 

“Man the yards,” he says grimly. “Furl all sails and drop anchor. We’re staying put until morning.”

\---

A sudden stab of pain draws her from sleep a she tries to shift position. As she resurfaces through hazy fog of restless dreams, more aching muscles registers and with a sudden sinking feeling, Evelyn awakes.

Her head is churning and she is dog-tired and worn-out. The room she is in is dark, the faint reflex of the moon on the water the only source of light. 

Disoriented, it takes her a few seconds to realize she is in an alcove bed. More specifically the alcove bed of the captain’s cabin, and she is not alone. Beside her rests captain Kenway, his breath drawn steadily as he sleeps.

Evelyn startles and retreats as far away as possible into the corner against the wall. As she moves, her dress comes askew and the bodice falls open. She tugs it in place and realizes the lazing of the corset waist is undone. 

She can only guess to what that means. Evelyn tries to contain the broken sob working its way up her throat, but in the dead quiet it’s audible enough.

Kenway shifts on the bed, leans on his elbow and reaches for her.

“Shh, lass. Calm down,” he coos. His voice holds a soothing quality her mind unconsciously recognizes. Part of her wants to give in to the ensnaring security it inspires, but the rest of her rings with alarm. What did he do to her? What happened?

“Calm down,” he repeats. “I won’t hurt you.”

Evelyn wraps her arms around herself as wary tears smothers her view.

“What did you do?” she says. “Why am I here?”

He sighs warily and props himself up, leaning against the pillows. 

“You were hysterical. Couldn’t get you to calm down. We saw no other way, so I brought you here.”

“Why… why is,” she’s afraid for the answer, can hardly get the words out, but she has to know.

“My dress, why is it…”

“You couldn’t breathe, Lass. That thing was too tight; it had to be undone.

She doesn’t know if she can trust him, has no recollection of moving from the deck or anything before waking up by his side. She doesn’t know if what he says is true, and her fretful silence tells him so. 

“Look, lass. Nothing happened. You’re still in one piece.” There is a hint of irritation seeping into his voice now, though she senses he tries to contain it. Still, trust comes hard after the last few days and dread of the unknown battles unease at his demeanour.

“H-how do I know you’re telling the truth?” she hears how broken her voice is, and cringes at what she has become. 

He is silent for a few seconds, weighing his words before he speaks, and Evelyn feels his assessing gaze through the thick darkness.

“If something had,” he says slow and carefully, “you would feel wet, and probably sore, being your first.” Embarrassed at his direct enlightenment, Evelyn is lost for words and her face glows with the heat of the sun. Kenway disregards her bashful muteness and tiredly offers some Comfort.

“Trust me, lass. If something happened you would know, even if you didn’t remember.”

Evelyn lets out a shaky breath. She remembers how she felt during the party, the sore ache between her thighs every time she moved. She feels nothing like that, nothing of what he describes. She dries away the warm wetness that keeps rolling down her cheeks, the relief and the exhaustion too much to bare. 

Kenway doesn’t say anything. He lets her cry in silence while he gets out of bed and lights a candle on the desk. He pads barefoot and bare-chested across the cabin and collects something. He sits down on the edge of the bed as he hands her a tankard.

“It’s only water,” he says. “Drink.”

She takes a few gulps of the cold liquid. Tasting only water, she downs the rest in deep swallows. It’s settling her frantic heart and when she lowers the cup, she feels a little calmer. 

Kenway settles against the opposite end of the bed, leaned back and relaxed with one knee drawn up. When Evelyn raises her head, he has been waiting and now he catches her gaze. 

“It’s time you start talking, lass. This time I want to know the truth. All of it.” 

There is no anger in his demeanour, just stern determination. She knows he will not relent until he’s satisfied, this time. Moreover, she has nothing left to lose. She draws a shaky breath.

“My name is Evelyn Doyle, and my father was a merchant,” she starts. “There were only the two of us, and he treated me as he would a son. He took me everywhere he went, taught me the ropes of his business. He meant for me to run it alongside him, and to take over and continue his legacy once he was gone.” She sighs.

“A year ago, he passed away and left me in my aunt and uncles care. They didn’t share his opinions…”

It’s awkward telling an outsider of the heated arguments with her uncle, of the gradual restriction of freedom, of their intent to marry her off and then of their final deceit and betrayal. Kenway listens without making a single comment. He sits at the end of the bed, following her tale with his arms resting behind his head, his face set in a mask and his eyes glowing in the low light.

“At the night of the party, I thought I could reason with my intended, make him see that I could be of value to him in more ways than as a wife. He refused it. And when I told him I would not enter into a marriage I did not believe in he…” Her words falter as she balks at telling him the next part. Fear grips her like a tight fist as she remembers the grip on her throat and what he did. 

A callused palm settles over her clenched hands and gives a reassuring squeeze. Evelyn lifts her gaze and finds the winter morning watching.

“Go on,” he encourages. 

“H-he choked me… held me against the wall,” Evelyn shudders in disgust. “I tried to resist, but I could not breathe… then he…” bile rises in her throat. As she forces herself to continue, Evelyn relives the moment, stuck against the wall and struggling to breathe while Flynn gropes and fondles, the utter fear she felt that maybe he was right, that he had already succeeded, that she was already giving up. That while his fingers moved within her body, his breath ghosting her ear, she had broken as she stopped fighting and just _waited._

Suddenly the room is stifling and she feels suffocated. She claws her way towards the exit, has to get away from the memory, away from the clammy feel of ghosts grasping for her through the darkness.

Before she makes it off the bed, a set of strong arms wraps her in a tight embrace, locking her in place. Her body is stiff with resistance, the instinct to flee so deeply lodged in her spine it takes some time before his voice penetrates through the panic, before his relenting strength overpowers what fight is left in her trembling body.

“Calm down, lass,” he says. “You’re safe here. No one can harm you.”

Drawing another shuddering breath, exhaustion crashes down on her like a wave and her body slumps against him.

“That’s it,” he soothes. “Relax. Breathe.”

He lets go the tight grip, sensing the insentient urge lifting.

Evelyn feels empty, devoid, as shell of her own self.

“What will happen to me? “she asks.

Kenway sighs, tiredly.

“At this point, it’s not for me to decide alone. Had you come clean with me the first day, it would have been, but now it’s up to the ship.” His arms tighten around her as her heart speeds up.

“What does that entail?” she whispers.

“Tomorrow we’ll put it to a vote. But first you’ll have to tell them. You have to tell them everything you told me.” 

The cold claw around her gut clenches. Everything in her recoils at the prospect. Still she resigns, giving Kenway a wary nod.

“Now you should try to get some sleep.”

Stiff and sore, she climbs back under the covers. Kenway gets up and blows out the light, plunging the cabin into darkness before climbing back into bed. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to fall asleep, the ghost of the memory still haunting her thoughts and the prospect of laying herself bare to all the crew daunting. As he rests beside her though, his warmth seeps through her bones and melts away the rigid unease and when he puts an arm around her, she succumbs to slumber nonetheless.

\---

When she sets foot on deck the next morning all the crew is waiting. The ship is under bare poles, lying at anchor in the slight breeze. The sun burns on a blue sky above, and Evelyn feels faint in the sudden warmth, with all the men watching. As her gait falters, a hand falls heavily on her shoulder; pressing her onward toward the large hatch amidships. There the waiting quartermaster lends her a hand as she steps onto the raised surface of the Hatch.

Beside her, Kenway takes a position and addresses the crew.

“Two days ago, when we took down _The Princess,_ this girl was found among the bounty. We know she stowed away aboard that ship, and that bringing her back to Kingston will probably pay us a right fine reward.”

His voice booms over the crowd as he speaks, answered by a few ‘ _ay’_ s along the way. He is his old self, again; shrewd and unyielding and none of the man she saw last night. He flicks a gaze her way, a stern and indifferent glare, and Evelyn feels alone and abandoned. Will he not support her case?

“Yesterday, this lass pleaded to be let go. Twice I declined. And then she called us no better than slavers.” At this several voices sound their indignation, curses and oaths thrown among the men. 

Kenway paces slowly back and forth as he waits for the general resentment to die Down. 

“Last night, she tried to end her life.”

The crowd of pirates fall silent and every gaze turns to Evelyn. Wary, curious, stern and questioning gazes rake over her, and Evelyn has never felt more scrutinised. Her mouth goes dry and she catches Kenways gaze, looking for reassurance, but all she gets is another stern glare. 

“Today,” he says and flicks his gaze away. “Today we put her future at a vote. But before we do, the lass will plead her case.”

He turns to her and gives her a nod, signalling for her to start her story, before stepping back wrapping his fingers into his belt.

Evelyn swallows anxiety and warily begins. She talks about her father, the business he ran and the journeys he took, bringing her along with him, his unfortunate illness and sudden death the year before, moving to her aunt and uncles estate and the differences between them the past year; the fights and her uproar against their authority. She arrives at the arranged marriage and the engagement party and her mouth goes dry. 

The sailors shifts uneasy on their feet, and the mood on deck turns edgy as if they are afraid she’ll snap and try to throw herself overboard again. Evelyn feels her heart racing and the claws of the memory gripping for her, the darkness enveloping her even in the brightness of daylight, when a solid hand settles on her shoulder, grounding her in place. It keeps her tethered to reality as she makes it through the rest of her story.

When she is finished, she feels like falling down. The crowd mutters amongst themselves as Kenway steps forth. He doesn’t offer her a second glance as he addresses the crew.

“All in favour of returning her to her family in Kingston!”

A few hands raise against the sky, but most of the men stands still and silent.

“All in favour of forgoing the reward and granting her freedom!”

The majority of the crew raise their hands in the air, their vote underpinned by a fair few shouts of ‘Ay’.

Relief washes over her like the sun chasing away the clammy morning vapour. When she meets Kenway’s gaze, he gives her a fleeting grin that does not quite reach his eyes, but Evelyn doesn’t realize as he steps down from the hatch and walks away. Too caught up in exhausted relief she falls to her knees, her eyes watering in happiness.

As the order ‘ _Lay aloft and lose all sails!_ ’ sounds over the deck, the bustle picks up as the sailors prepare the ship for departure, Evelyn stays right in the middle, sitting on the hatch watching the sails unfurl against the bright blue sky.

\---

The quartermaster caches his gaze as Edward passes him, and follows him as he climbs to the quarterdeck. Down blow, the pirates puts their backs into weighing anchor, while the riggers works on unfurling the sails. Adé comes to stand at his side and after confirming everything that has to be done is set into motion he turns to Edward.

“What are your plans, Kenway,” he asks, careful that his voice doesn’t carry. “We’re not taking her to Port Royal, are we?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Edward answers, while consulting his compass and then flipping it shut. Adéwalé shifts on his feet and tucks his fingers into his belt, watching the girl sitting on the main hatch, practically beaming at the clear blue sky. _Such a fighter, in such a small frame._

“She won’t be pleased,” he comments.

“Nor will I,” Edward says and a roughish grin spreads across Adé’s face. Edward can’t help but being amused at his mirth, but contains the smile with a huff.

“She’ll be a fucking pain in my arse from now on,” he says.

Adé barks out a laugh.

“So, were going home?”

“Ay. To Great Inagua.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that brew in my mind over autum wacation. Will probably be three chapters and might move into a smut-sequal if you want. Or if I want... Oh, who am I kidding; I probably will.


End file.
